Spy in Chancery

this dingy garret and tawdry furniture in the hope of inciting him to some surprising outburst.
    Moreover, the rooms were on one floor and Corbett knew he could come and go as he wished and be able to give the slip to the usual spies de Craon would feel obliged to send his way. Corbett instructed Ranulf and Hervey that on no account were they to leave the royal palace and to report to him immediately any suspicious occurrences or happenings. Hervey looked relieved at this but Ranulf sulked for hours when he realised he had been refused permission to run wild in the fleshpots of the city. The brothels and bordellos of Paris were famous for their whores, Ranulf had tasted some of these delights on his last visit and was disappointed to learn he would not be able to renew old acquaintances.
    They settled down to the court routine, Corbett realising that the French would only receive him in an official audience when the time was ripe. They drew food from the buttery and kitchens, sometimes dining in the great hall beneath the silken canopies and arras bearing the White Cross of Lorraine or the Silver Fleur de Lis of France. Corbett constantly tried to learn what was going on; items of gossip, pieces of information, snatches of news which could be sewn together to form a mental tapestry.
    He soon accepted this would be harder than he thought, de Craon or perhaps someone even higher, had issued the strictest instructions; the English envoys were to be treated kindly, afforded some hospitality but to be given no concessions and certainly not any gossip. Corbett found his witticisms and attempts at intelligent conversation rapidly brought to nothing, while even Ranulf's quick and easy tongue, subtle flatteries and droll humour made little headway with the serving girls who worked in the palace.
    They also knew they were observed, which reduced Hervey to such constant agitation and nervous tension that Corbett tired of trying to allay his fears. Despite the colour, the pageantry, the glorious gaudy costumes of the household knights and the different ranks of servants, there was a sense of malice, of quiet menace in the palace. Corbett knew this atmosphere was not caused by de Craon but came direct from Philip, a king who prided himself on knowing every turn, every occurrence in his realm.
    The days dragged on. Corbett spent most of his time either listening to the choirs in the royal chapel or browsing greedily amongst the rare books and manuscripts of the palace library. King Philip prided himself on being a man of culture and Corbett was delighted to find that royal French gold had purchased works of Aristotle from the Islamic writers of Spain and North Africa. His pleasure was marred by having to keep an ever-vigilant eye on Ranulf whose restless roaming about the palace could pose a threat to their security. Corbett knew that they were safe as long as they obeyed the strict protocol of the envoys. If that was broken, the French would rightly claim that they had usurped their rights and were subject to any punishment the French King thought fit.
    One day, about a week after their arrival, Ranulf returned breathlessly to their garret to announce that he had discovered other English people in the palace. At first, Corbett thought he was mad, dismissing his words as mere fantasies, the result of too much wine or enforced loneliness. Yet, as Ranulf described what he had seen, Corbett sensed his servant was speaking the truth and had probably met some of the hostages Philip had demanded after the English army surrendered in Gascony. He decided that perhaps these were worth a visit and Ranulf gladly took him back. They were all in one of the small herb gardens which lay at the back of the palace, a fairly unprepossessing group of elderly men, women and a few children.
    Corbett remembered the letters he had brought and was pleased to hear they had received them. He chatted for a while, giving them news of England and the royal court, trying to do his best to allay their anxieties and reassure them that their homesickness would soon be at an end. He met Tuberville's sons, two sturdy boys of eleven and thirteen who resembled their father as closely as peas out of a pod. Corbett found their youthful enthusiasm and constant questions about their father and home as a welcome relief to the gloom and despondency of the other hostages. They spoke of the letters they had received and the eldest, Jocelyn, openly confessed that sometimes he